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Ken Pepiton Apr 28
Synchronic simple step
yonder, yo, go, no
go, si, go
on and on and on
… so yust so
yust to be we once went

we split, full moiety,
act-ion -jello-timed- lobes
blobs plasmoieted mind
parabolic, by yah,
Arching fly call it, I got it,
call his name, yah who done
did done GOT
the funny parts. Read the books.
Now. At this point, cognitive native
child formed in my mortal moment
per-ifery-wasery rules
secret se- per seance
sacred made knowledge,
state of knowing entered, left

ab-rupturously, grief, lief
left easy, re lief, sigh
grief. We were all
we-    are Charlie Brown, forever

interrupted, as if once, however long ago,
we knew we were one thing,
then we knew we were merely

words between things you knew
and did not do.
and you know you imagined this is that.
The novel experience, this side.
Post-done and paid off.
Precautionary. Click.
Why not,
who is asking, hangs, as pregnant pause
über Þe olde excessive easing hook,

who are we, and what are we doing,
we who were to survive receiving
asked knowledge, the easy-does-it tree,
shows us the easy way, this way dis-eased.

The lie and the profundus is merely piercing.
Flatten the spikes, be atop the bed of nails.
Wait. Funda-mental, bottom mind, first
id-ego otherwise mind,
frame a being, be a
one, and not the other,
here, there, there, it's okeh, eh, ok?

E-see easing easy living, being been done,
doing all that old trees do, after all,
we wait to feel the fire beetles,
land and lay their eggs among our ash,
and swollen-cracked nuts,
fire calls them into heat, in season.
Such things we learned
from the ant people who saved us in reeds,
thatching from roofs floating, maybe,
really, lifeboats, but
think a tsunami through,
incursive and excursive.
Lay down a layer of plausibility, evoke applause
clap each hand once.

completion, ten to go and history is made in our pages in life's book of accounted for idle words; we read a proper Proust load, right proudly.
Noura abdulla Nov 2021
Concepts  👁‍🗨

(the light at the end of the tunnel was somebody else's iPhone)

39 • Speaking the language of the ocean as an Opening Statement oath

38 •  house where gathering on lunch tables is the validation of love I've been taught everything but home

37 • I'm less of a city than id like to be I’m
more categorized i never asked to

36 • It's raining and Thunder storm never fitted my skin this completely  
And —

35 •  yes I'm using too many personification because you know what, The sky is the only one took me in its basement when gods condemn me and my family turned my bedroom to a storage room-
And —

34 • no You can't be as dead as a poet lost herself trying not to pull the trigger every time her hands stopped writing

33 • I wore the moon as a guilt dress and called it mine. when gravity traumatized the earth; it never was okay not to maintain your skin

32 • love shouldn't be this futile mathematical formula, it was either give it all your cosmos or leave its atoms be.

31 • The worst case scenario saying that you cared

30 • Blaming your sign or your daddy issues doesn't facilitate you a permission to justify yourself. domestic violence is never a family matter

29 • Using metaphors like translating love confessions to French, and addressing the lavender's scent on someone else’s sweater. facing the music and call it by its first name was never an option,  securing your handful of cards, clenching them tightly in your fist and never on the dinner table is all your upbringing taught you.

28 • promising not to repeat your parents mistakes only to become one with every time you improvise your toxic behaviors, your mood swings, and hunted past lives on people believed in you that you cast away 'till they walk out of you heathens

27•  she didn't.

27 • She kisses you homes and family members and your childhood playground ‘til your lungs is overflowing with fireflies and graduates

26•  you say “thank you” she said “it’s the god work at best” and man if getting her god's approval is such a tired game

25• I prayed for him 5 times a day, it’s been 5 years and he never answered me back

25 • Contradictions never made sense

24 • I hate the lake and i hate the house and I'm never in between?

23 • Leaving parts of you every time you leave her bedsheets is not a love story

20 • Fights and Interfering ihate-iloveyous like they were the same thing

19 • Trapped inside a voicemail
and made up tweets on happy endings and cursive curses,

this is not supposed to rhyme.

18 • Turning kitchen into dance floor half past eight AM  —her legs move to the music and her body hits you like a soft iceberg before its shape fit into yours now I don't know about you but I'm singing a holy ******* hallelujah on that ****

17• Using the same words fighting on who came up with it first

16 • If religion were to transform into human figure: sun lays inside her mouth, lavenders roots inside her ribcage both beautiful and suffocating.
- Moving the weather in reverse she reinvents clouds so catastrophic and put rain into being; that, my friend is the only miraculous evident  i'll ever worship. You see, the sun bends every time she shake the sky graceless only then she smiles and only then, atheism was irrelevant

15 • Love letters on cold rooms, Empty tea cups, crossed calendar, fake engagement rings and lovers who never came back

14 • tic-tocks, January 12  stuck on 3 minutes phone call ******* I'm doing it again !

13 • I'll seal my will to the seven seas and go down with the ship hopping you're the sailor

12• judging the book by the way it let's you go doesn't let their parents reject you little less

11• too many boarders in our town yet you come up with creative way to make death prouder than your dad ever will

10 • Matching cuts, different motives, Immortalize me a kiss and i'll pretend I'd refuse

9 • Turning heart into cereal box and Oreos and chew on them like love taught you

8• Ran out of blocks to architect so i run on empty vows on strangers lips that fades by the time sunlight knocks on the window

7• she texts you, then she texts you not.
she tweets your slangs and quote your favorite song lyrics and you Turn her notifications to on off on off on off on on on on !

6 • Too many plans too little swimming pools.

5 • turns out placing rings on people's finger doesn't help you keep them  

4 • Blackhole inside a blackhole inside a tunnel you wish it was more physically harmful than soul abusing i thought I've known better                
3 • breaking your surface to one and your heart for two Making love to visual screens  and screenshots it's not supposed to make sense, but you probably know what i mean

2 • Wearing funeral black since last   Thursday noon and Sunday                                           morning seeing you wearing the same    breaks my heart.

   1 • Remember when I counted down til the day i meet you when we started texting, isn't it ironic now that I'm counting our poem down to an end , I'd laugh but I missed the punchline since that 12th of January
Bei Aguilar Dec 2020
Count the days
Before it begins
The most sought-after event
That we all await

It's the first day of December
But it's not Christmas that I refer

Starting today,
Count all the days
When you give and give
Even to those who forget

Proven and tested,
It will return to you
It will be more than what they received
More than you asked and view
d Sep 2020
They say that in the final 30 seconds of your life, you see either the  best moments, or the entire thing flash before your eyes. I couldn't really differentiate between the two;
Thirty. One of the most memorable performances of my life, the day you caught my eye from amongst the crowd. Twenty-seven. That day my friends and I hung out at the pool and laughed so much that I nearly died. Twenty-three. When we were at your place and I cut and colored my hair, all in your bathroom sink. Fifteen. All of us, sleep deprived, but lazily singing and dancing on the pavement nonetheless because school was out. Eleven. My hands hold yours. Your lips hold mine. Six. The final sunset I'd ever witness. Three. Your eyes. Zero.
I've been watching the clock
daydreaming of us holding each other,
the sun in our eyes and the bright blue skies,
the smell of the grass and the white noise of chatter,
the wind sending us cold kisses on our cheeks and
whirling your chestnut brown hair,
the way your lips curl with your charming smile
and the way your eyes sparkle melts my soul,
I've craved feeling your skin against mine,
your touch that sends me to the highest of places
as our fingers interlace gently,
your lips pressed to mine as I can feel
how much we've missed each other, passionate yet tender
and every nerve in my body sends into this rush of longing for you
and here, all I want is to stay in your arms a little longer,
stare into each other's eyes a little longer,
I want us to just stay at this moment for a little longer
but for now, you're alive but only in my mind
missing you extra hard every single time
waiting till I see you again
counting down the seconds till I can.
lockdown thoughts got me missing and craving for intimate moments and I've been imagining when I'm finally in your arms again
I finally have permission…

To write bad poetry this month
                        no extraneous commitments dictated

To grow a beard all week
                        no vain pretense required

To ring my mum to-night
                        no after-work drinks mandated

To sleep in an hour
                        no daily commute demanded

To contemplate a minute
                        no ‘time wasting’ reprimanded

To breathe just one second
                        no productivity quota commanded
Always look to the upside - If it wasn't for this pandemic I'd probaly never have started writing poetry. Good news for me, maybe not so much for you poor reader!
Zack Ripley Feb 2020
My stomach churns as I get ready to fly away.
Adrenaline rises as I hear a voice say...5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
Then my rocket blasts off
toward the milky way.
Before I know it, 2 days have gone by. And as I look out the window,
I can't help but cry.
Because floating in the moonlight, even though I'm all alone
in a sea of stars,
it really hits home how small and connected we really are.
vanessa ann Mar 2020
i’m a year to twenty.
soon to be twenty-one,
twenty-two, twenty-three,
twenty four, and suddenly halfway to fifty;
when life gets a little more busy,
perhaps with a few kids running around,
and god forbid—my breath smelling like whisky.

then i’d turn sixty,
hopefully still as witty
and my tongue just as filthy.

and perhaps by then,
i’d gladly sell my kidney,
because it’s no biggie,
if it means god takes pity
and returns me back to my fifties,
Amanda Kay Burke Dec 2019
Dreams of fir trees
Candy canes
Dancing Christmas lights
Gingerbread houses
And presents wrapped tight
Santa Claus with his sleigh and reindeer
Each merry day that passes brings Christmas more near
A little holiday poem for yall
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